The Raven
by EquusGold
Summary: 'It is a strange twist of fate that sends Bungo Baggins and his son off the path on their journey home. Well, fate and a youthful hobbit's insatiable curiosity.' -An accident brings a dwarf maiden with uncertain past into Baggins' home and their lives. Her existence may well be the catalyst that changes everything.
1. Fate

**Fate**

It is a strange twist of fate that sends Bungo Baggins and his son off the path on their journey home. Well, fate and a youthful hobbit's insatiable curiosity. It is early spring and the past few days had been particularly blustery. This was no more than one more felled tree across the road. Now Bilbo Baggins at this time was a particularly adventurous young fellow, undoubtedly taking after his Tookish mother, Belladonna. What could be a more amazing sight than the crown of an immense tree brought down to the ground standing dozens of times his own size? Not much, Bilbo thought, and Bungo had never been one to refuse either of his two greatest loves anything.

So there they were, father and son, hobbits from a respectable and distinguished family, padding softly through the undergrowth with the stealth that only hobbits possess. Young Bilbo had gotten it into his mind that surely a wondrous creature indeed must live in the vast, majestic treetops, towering over the world. Perhaps elves lived up there! But they must be quiet less the fanciful creatures take flight from their downed refuge.

"Isn't it huge Papa!" Bilbo exclaimed, though he was far too old to be enthralled by such things, coming into his twenty-seventh birthday as he was.

"Indeed!" Even Bungo, quiet, stoic, respectable Bungo had to confess that it was an exceptional sight, the immense canopy of the tree towering over them even after having come crashing down to earth. "But we must hurry along Bilbo, we have dawdled enough and your mother will be wondering where we are."

Bilbo pulled a wry face, knowing exactly how his mother got when she was worried. "Fine."

The hobbits were halfway around the fallen crown of the tree, avoiding the long shards of fractured wood and immense branches that had snapped off and flown in every direction upon the trees decent when Bilbo stopped and cocked his head to the side. Bungo carried on regardless.

"Papa! Can you hear that?" he called, his words strangely soft but astute. Bungo halted and looked back at his soon who was stood, mid-step, with a look of intense concentration on his face. Humouring him Bungo stopped and forced his keen, pointed ears to listen to whatever sound in the forest had captured his son's attention. He waited.

And heard nothing.

"Just wait," Bilbo waved an exasperated hand at his parent, too enthralled in the strange sound to remember to be respectful. "It's not constant. Just listen for a moment."

Bungo rolled his eyes but said nothing and did as his soon demanded. He had learned from the long years living with his wife that sometimes it was just easier to humour them. He waited again, only half concentrating on listening now. The other half of his attention was on the second breakfast his wife had no doubt prepared for them –

"There!" Bilbo exclaimed in an excited but still hushed tone. "Did you hear that?"

Bungo nodded a little dumbly. He most certainly had heard it and it sound like someone was in pain nearby.

"This way!" Bilbo called to his father even as he turned and slipped further into the depths of the forest.

"Bilbo!" Bungo called anxiously before throwing all respectability to the wind and galloping after his wayward, foolish soon. Sometimes Bungo regretted having married one of the Took women. It had seemed like a good idea at the time…

"PAPA!" Bilbo's voice called loudly, torn between a yell and a scream. Bungo plied on more speed and frantically raced after his son's voice, his heart pounding every bit as fast as his feet.

He was no more than several feet from the lad when he spotted him, crouched down at the head of some poor soul. The figure was trapped beneath a tree from just above their hips to halfway down their thighs. It looked painful, and the figure was perfectly still, sprawled on their stomach.

They were still breathing though, he noted quickly as he threw himself down opposite his son at the figures head.

"Hello!?" he asked frantically, trying his utmost to keep his voice under control. "Can you hear me?"

A muffled moan was his only response but it was enough. Bungo glanced up at his son but continued to address the figure trapped beneath the tree. "I'm going to send my son to fetch help. We'll get you out of there, just you see."

"T-Than-k-yo-ou," was the breathy and hitched response.

"Hush now, you just sit quietly and we'll have out of there in no time," Bungo laid a gentle hand on the figures head as he had done to a young Bilbo so many times before and gently ran a finger over the tousled, leaf-ridden, tangled locks of thick, coarse brown hair.

They took his advice and said nothing more, laying extremely still and focusing on nothing but each breath that they forced themselves to take. Bungo found himself twitchy and unable to sit still as he waited. Waiting was the worst thing about a situation such as this, he was coming to believe. He could only imagine how this poor trapped person was feeling.

To satisfy some of his need for movement and a little action, Bungo took to glancing around the little space of forest they were in.

The storms from the previous few nights had certainly done a number on their surroundings, for this wasn't the only fallen tree in the nearby vicinity, there were several others also, and a couple of the were torn and twisted so badly that the look like spiny, spikey spirals. One of the fallen trees was several feet from where it had had broken on halfway up the trunk. It was almost like a furious whirlwind had torn through and ripped the place apart.

What could anyone have been doing out in weather like that?

As Bungo sat there puzzling over it there was a harsh cawing. The hobbit glanced upwards, along the trunk of the tree that had fallen on the unfortunate person. A crow –or was it a raven? What was the difference again? – watching him with dark beady eyes before cautiously hopping along the trunk towards them. Bungo watched in morbid fascination, knowing he should shoo the bird; even the slightest change in weight on the trunk could cause something unforeseen to happen and the result could be catastrophic for the person they were trying to save.

"Krohk," the bird cawed in its guttural way. It cocked its head to the side and shot what Bungo, in his frightened hobbit mind, took to be an approximation of a glare towards the hobbit.

"Kro-ohk," the trapped figure echoed in a breathless sort of way. The black bird gave to sharp shrieks before hopping of the trunk and alighting beside the figures feet. It pecked at the person's trouser legs twice.

"Hey!" Bungo exclaimed, waving an arm. "Shoo! Get out of here!"

The raven – and Bungo was fairly certain by now that it was a raven. The dark eyes were the indicator – made no movement to do so. Instead it hopped in that curious way its kind has and set itself atop one of the figure's boots. "Krohk!" it screeched again.

Bungo quickly resigned himself to the fact that the bird would not be shooed. Indeed he had a nagging suspicion from its behaviour and the trapped person's response to its incessant cawing that it was some kind of pet. Rather, Bungo was more focused on the figures boots.

They were large, was the first thing he noted, not as big as hobbit feet, but far larger than any of the Men kind he had seen during his scarce travels. They were heavy, with iron toes, nailed soles and unyielding leather. There were more straps and buckles up the calves than the hobbit had ever seen. Bungo's head was filled with suspicion and he quickly hauled himself to his feet and looked at the downed figure from a birds-eye perspective.

It was indeed a dwarf. Even without looking for a beard Bungo could see that. The figure was too short to be human, and its stature too stocky and solid to be of any other race. Bungo though back to when the figure had spoken and realised that it hadn't been the weight of the tree and pain that caused the figure's voice to be so low and harsh, it was because, from what little Bungo knew of dwarves, their voices were always deep and snarly. Though this dwarf seemed to be more husky than snarly, its voice not as much as a baritone as he might have imagined it.

But what in the name of Yavanna was a dwarf doing out there in the shire, outside in the middle of a horrible storm?

There was no time for answers for at that moment Bilbo returned with several sturdy hobbits and a plan to set free the stranger.

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**Something I wrote today whilst the rain clouds came out to play. I felt a strange need to upload it. I hope you like it and let me know if you do. I promise it will get better.**


	2. The Raven

**The Raven**

The dwarf had been freed without difficulty and carried to a nearby hobbit hole where a number of healers had already congregated and prepared for the injured person. The dwarf had remained unconscious the whole while.

It was a little over an hour that one of the healers exited the home and made her way Bungo, the rest of the hobbits having been thanked and forced to remove themselves to their homes.

"The dwarf is resting now," the healer told them as Bilbo came to stand by his father's side. "There was an issue with one of her hips but we'll continue to treat it. It should be fine, but she may always have a limp. The biggest problem is dehydration and malnutrition. I would have to think that she's been trapped for about three days now, so it's fortunate you found her when you did. She also has a nasty head wound and seems a little out of it but we can't assess that until she's feeling a little better."

"But he'll be alright, yes?" Bilbo asked anxiously, wringing his hands in a gesture that was so like his father's that the healer nearly smiled.

"Yes, though our patient is a She, not a He."

"Oh," was Bilbo's sheepish response before he froze. "Wait, she?"

"That's what I said," the healer replied, this time allowing a small smile to slip through.

"I thought all dwarves were men?" Bilbo asked frowned in a betrayed kind of way at his father who was looking on bemusedly. "That's what you told me."

"And that's what my father told me," Bungo replied with a shrug. Bilbo sighed.

"We need to find someone to take her in," the healer said whilst scratching the tip of one of her pointy ears. "The family here is too large for her to be taken care of and too boisterous for her to get the rest she needs."

Bungo rubbed a hand across his chin thoughtfully but his son jumped in before he could make any kind of response.

"We could take her in! Couldn't we Papa?" Bilbo asked eagerly, a broad smile on his face. "Our home is big and quiet, and Mother would take excellent care of her. We all would!"

Bungo shook his head ruefully at his exuberant son. "How can I argue with that logic?" he grumbled good-naturedly. "Your mother's going to kill me."

In truth though he wasn't too worried. Belladonna had been griping for quite some time now that she was feeling more and more useless as time went by and her only son grew older and more independent – though he hadn't seemed that way as of late. She would gaze on with wistful eyes each time they passed large broods of fauntlings gambolling about their parents with gay abandon. Their sizeable home, the hole he had built for her with the intention of a whole horde of little hairy footed cretins to fill it continued to seem more empty with each passing Summer.

This would be good for his wife, Bungo decided. Belladonna would have purpose again. And perhaps Bilbo would finally get a grasp on the responsibility that he had been trying to teach him. One could only hope.

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He had been right. Bungo wasn't one to brag but by Yavanna he had been right! Belladonna had taken to caring for the injured dwarf female like a duck to water, or a hobbit to their feet. Bilbo had taken on a responsible older brother role without hesitation and Bungo had smiled smugly through it all.

Her name Ysir, or at least they though it was. There had been a tiny letter folded up snugly inside the deep folds of her coat with the words 'to Ysir' with a rough drawing of dwarf with thick brown hair and a too-wide smile, its hand clutching that of a tiny blonde blob with stick legs and a round head. It was clearly a child's sketch and there was little doubt that the taller of the two figures was the dwarf deposited in their care.

Other than that Ysir had no idea as to her identity or her history. The knock she had received to the head had been more severe that they had at first thought, leaving her with a sliver scar straight across her temple and a mind wiped clean.

When she had first regained consciousness Ysir had been frightened and as flight as a rabbit, though they could see the considerable effort she put into remaining calm and collected simply to appease them. They didn't care for the sterling personality they uncovered after the first year or so was worth all the trials.

Well, maybe not the nightmares. It was most every night to begin with that Ysir woke, her husky voice cracking as deep throated screams echoed through the hobbit hole. Belladonna would grumble a little before slipping from her husband's embrace and hurrying to the other female's side, cradling the fully grown dwarf as her breathing hitched and heaved, and fat tears slipped down her face.

To Bella it was like having an infantile Bilbo all over again, weighed more than twice her weight, a beard and strength enough to put a hole one of the wooden walls as she thrashed in her sleep. And unlike Bilbo, Ysir never spoke of her nightmares, only to say that if she could remember their faces she would not be frightened, and of course there were the times where she muttered, growled and screamed the word 'orcs' whilst trapped in her dreams.

Eventually though, time passed and such things faded. Ysir became an integral part of the Baggins household and the hobbits became the family she had undoubtedly possessed, but had lost. The permanent limp was a small price to pay, Ysir reasoned, when she had received so much in return.

The only keys she had to her past were her name and the raven, Krohk, who was indeed a companion of some sort. He trailed Ysir like a dog and was more intelligent than any hound Bungo had ever come across. He could speak, though his vocabulary was rather limited, and he knew how to open the windows when they were unlocked or ring the doorbell when they weren't. He could understand commands and even boast short conversations if he was feeling particularly vocal. Sometimes they had asked Krohk about Ysir's past, but they gleaned less information from him than they did from Ysir's nightmares.

Never was Ysir able to explain why she was in the Shire during that fateful storm, but she became contented with the new life she had and gave up searching for something more.

When Bungo and Belladonna passed suddenly and unexpectedly not five years after her arrival, Ysir remained in Bilbo's home, and the hobbit gracefully took over the role of guardian, parental feelings emerging within less than a year. Ysir had muttered that it had something to do with him becoming 'so darned stiff.' Bilbo had shrugged in response and reminded her quite primly that he was a Baggins and responsible for the entirety of the household now, even if it was only a household of two.

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**AN- Ysir is pronounced 'ee'-'seer'**

**Thank you so much to everyone who has favourited and/or followed this story already! A special thanks to readergirl4895 for reviewing**

**After this chapter we're finally into the actual story so please bear with me!**

**Thanks again!**


	3. Crafts

**Crafts**

**Thank you CrazyFanGirl18 and Merry Little Pippin for your reviews.**

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"You have a gift," Bilbo decided as he eyed the filthy dwarf in front of him.

"How so?" Ysir asked without really wanting to know the answer. Bilbo was always winging about something these days. She unceremoniously tossed her muddied cloak and grunted when it missed the hook and hit the floor but otherwise made no move to hang it up properly. Bilbo sighed heavily and grabbed the cloak, hanging it before wincing at the thud two heavy, iron-shod boots made as they were kicked off and collided with the wall.

"You go hunting, for _three days _might I add, and return having caught nothing," Bilbo huffed and folded his arms, blocking the way further into his their home. "Except maybe a mud monster." He added a little bitterly, knowing he would have to mop all the floors. Again.

"There was nothing to catch," Ysir responded in that husky voice of hers before pushing straight past the hobbit – leaving him with streaks of mud on his nose, cheek and favourite white shirt in the process! – and towards her room where tossed her pack, the loud thud of it followed by soft whumps as Ysir's bow, quiver and short sword were gently dropped onto the bed.

Bilbo sighed internally; if all dwarves were like her it was a wonder Middle-Earth had lasted this long. The bow was of Tookish make, and Bungo had commissioned it for her a mere few weeks before his death. The only other weapons Ysir possessed were the short sword and a long dagger with a broad blade, both of which she had purchased from Bree in the wake of the Fell Winter.

Never again, she had told Bilbo, never again would she be caught unprepared. She had already lost too much in her life.

Her skill with weapons had been natural, or ingrained in her from a young age to the point where a few short weeks of practice in a nearby field had Bilbo feeling impossibly safe in his hobbit hole. The fact that she went hunting often and had yet to catch anything was leaving Bilbo impossibly bewildered.

"There's a whole forest out there," he gestured towards the window, in the opposite direction the forest. "and you can't find a single thing to catch?"

"I thought you would be glad," Ysir grumbled, rubbing her bearded chin with a gloved hand. "Hobbits hate killing things."

"I at least thought you'd be giving some of the hunters a run for their money," Bilbo huffed a disappointed sigh with a downcast expression. Ysir's heart burned a little.

"I'll find something," she said, stepping closer to him with furrowed brows. "Something that I'm good at, really good, better than everyone else !"

"Maybe you should go to Buckland," Bilbo replied without looking at the stubborn expression that crossed the young dwarf's face. "It's the only forge around that will take you, even if you just went and tried it for a few weeks."

"No," Ysir barked, her tone and eyes sharp and cutting. "I'm not leavin' you to go chasing after a craft. I told you I wouldn't leave, and I won't!"

Bilbo gritted his teeth in annoyance. It wasn't that he wanted her to leave, quite the opposite, he just wanted her to find her craft. He knew from reading what little he could find on dwarves that each dwarf had a craft, from the mightiest lord to the lowliest scum. Crafts included smithing, politics, mining or the like. There were even guilds for things like merchants and servants.

Each dwarf was deemed inherently skilled in at least one craft, usually the craft of their same sex parent, and practiced that craft from a young age to the time they died. Bilbo had tried everything to find Ysir her craft, to give her that little piece of normalcy, of dwarf culture, but the only thing _she _seemed inherently good at was practicing with weapons. And a fat lot of good that would do in the peaceful Shire. Bilbo also wasn't sure if it counted as a _craft _among dwarves.

"Fine," Bilbo accepted that there was no changing her mind on this. Even before losing Bungo and Belladonna, Ysir had always been clingy, always needing to be comforted with physical gestures such as hugging, curling up together, a gentle tugging of those ridiculous long braids she always wore throughout her hair or a jesting elbow to the ribs. Whatever it was, so long as she was _touching _she was content.

A stint in Buckland with no more correspondence between them than a letter every now and then would drive her mental. Bilbo would feel the symptoms too; he had long ago grown used to and become comforted by Ysir's gestures, even if it was just brushing past him brusquely in the hall like she had done earlier. Ysir liked to laugh and tell him he was becoming part dwarf with the tiny things he had picked up from her, but he oft replied that she had adopted far more hobbit traits than he possessed dwarf ones.

"I'm sorry Bilbo," Ysir, placed her large hands on his shoulders, bent her knees and bowed her head until she was looking her hobbit guardian in the eye. She had warm brown eyes, the colour of molten chocolate. The strange burr in her voice became apparent she deepened it even more, trying to be empathetic and sincere. She usually hid the accent, the heavy brogue setting her even further apart from the hobbit folk. "I know ye want me to find my craft, though what ye think that will achieve I've no idea, but I'm not leavin'. You're stuck with me."

Bilbo smiled at her before allowing the expression to dissolve. "But what if this is it? What if smithing's your craft? Don't you want that part of yourself back?"

"It doesn't matter to me who I was before," Ysir told him with a soft smile. "I've made up my mind and I ain't changing' it. Besides, there are tonnes of other crafts that I'm not gonna get a chance to ever try, like minin' or servin' or, or politics! It could be any of them."

"I know, I know…" Bilbo admitted. "It's just- you can't stay here for ever."

Ysir froze. She knew the truth of it, but it wasn't something she ever wanted to admit, let alone talk about.

"You're going to outlive me by a long stretch," Bilbo told her and Ysir couldn't help but add a couple more generations into that equation. "And when I'm gone, what are you going to do? Who will be your family then?"

Ysir had no answer for that. She knew full well that she had no place amongst the Shirelings without Bilbo. If she remained she would know nothing but pain as those she cared about continually passed on around her.

"What do ye want me to say to that?" Ysir replied in a strangled tone. Bilbo folded his arms around her sturdy figure, mud, stench and all.

"Just promise me," he murmured against her shoulder. "That if even the slightest opportunity arises for your to return to dwarf culture you'll take it, without hesitation or the slightest thought of me."

"Bilbo I-"

"No, you promise me this," Bilbo said demandingly, pulling away from their embrace. "You always go on about being indebted to me for saving your life and giving you a place in my family, well, this is how you can repay me."

"Such a debt can never be repaid," Ysir muttered.

"Then what's the point of it being a debt?" Bilbo asked the universe, evoking a soft laugh from the dwarf.

"But I will do this, for you."

"Good, good," Bilbo said whilst guiding her towards the washroom. "Besides, you've been here this long and nothing's happened. I dare say we have quite some time yet before we need to worry about such a thing."

Little did he know that 'quite some time' would turn out to be less than a couple of days.

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**Author's Note**

**Please review my wonderful people.**

**I would like to hear who you guys think Ysir would be paired well with, keeping in mind that she's rather young. By dwarf standards anyway**


	4. Happenings

**Happenings**

**Thank you Hesperis and CrazyFanGirl18 for your reviews! I appreciate your opinions though I have yet to make a decision.I know last chapter I said she was young and to keep that in mind, but my heart is playing with the idea of love transcending all boundaries whilst my head is hemming and hawing over that one. But then there's the fact to that no one knows her actual age... not even me. So, indecisiveness abounds. Still.**

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The very next day Ysir was returning from a fine, solitary fishing trip which had bagged her two fat trout. She passed an elderly fellow of Mankind and nodded to him civilly, too eager to show Bilbo her catch to notice how strangely the man in grey was dressed or the gnarled staff in his left hand. If she had she may have understood Bilbo's actions a little better.

Nevertheless the stranger wasn't at all on her mind as she pushed the tiny gate open with her hip, quietly relieved that she would not have to come back out to fetch the mail. She had been up since well before dawn and was looking forward to a nap having not slept overmuch the days before either whilst on her hunting trip.

Ysir's hands were entirely full of fishing gear, the fish basket and the coat she had removed early in the day so she kicked the base of the door gently. Bilbo would know it was her, and he would be expecting her return by that time. There was no response though, which was strange, so Ysir reached out a stray finger and managed to latch onto the string of the doorbell, yanking it once before releasing and allowing the bell to chime a few times.

"Look, I told you already-" Bilbo's voice echoed through the thick would and boy, did he sound peeved. Ysir fleetingly wondered if Lobelia had been to visit. That woman could make Bilbo lose his temper like no one else. "We're not looking for any adventures here so if you would please just-"

The door swung open and Bilbo stared in shock at Ysir who was relieved that he had stopped before breaking the hobbits cardinal rule of never denying a visitor.

"Oh Ysir! It's just you! I thought that blasted wizard was back!" Ysir's ears perked up instantly.

"Wizard?" She asked as Bilbo hustled her into Bag End. "As in a _real _wizard? Like the one ye used to tell me about? What was his name… Gandalf! With the fireworks!"

"The one and the same," Bilbo mattered, shooting another dark look out the window as he took the coat of Ysir and hung it on the hook before taking the fish basket and allowing her to set the fishing gear in the small corner cupboard. "Boots," barked as he heard follow him towards the kitchen.

Ysir muttered darkly before returning to the entrance hall to kick her boots off, with perhaps a little more vigour than was necessary leaving another scuff on the base of the wall. Then she ran down the hall towards the kitchen, eager to continue their conversation. She kept her steps light so that Bilbo wouldn't –

"Don't run!" Bilbo snapped at her from the kitchen.

"Wasn't," Ysir muttered obstinately as she slowed her pace and deliberately walked into the room with measured steps and forced her breathing to be even.

"You were too," Bilbo retorted, pulling the fish from the basket.

"Was _not." _Ysir enunciated the words very carefully so there couldn't be any mistake.

"Really? I'm sure I heard running footsteps," Bilbo lay the fish inside the cold chest before laying pre-soaked cuts of cloth over it to keep it cool.

"Maybe ye need to get your ears checked," Ysir retorted whilst setting the fish basket on the sill to air.

"Fine, maybe my ears played tricks. Answer me this then," Bilbo turned to face the dwarf with crossed arms and a smug expression. "How did you get to the kitchen almost as fast as me?"

"Ye've got short legs," Ysir stated simply as she disappeared into the pantry to fetch a late breakfast. Bilbo gaped after her for a moment before gathering himself and bristling like a porcupine, indignant.

"Now see here-" Bilbo began, wagging a finger at her as he blocked the doorway out of the pantry.

"Can't believe you're still a bachelor," Ysir cut him off. Bilbo deflated instantly. "That temper of yours is so adorable."

Bilbo crossed his arms tightly across his chest, frowning as he prepared himself to give the cheeky dwarf a piece of his mind. Ysir gave him no chance as she approached, a cake clenched between her teeth, gripped him by the forearms, lifted him bodily and turned about to gently set him back on his feet inside the pantry.

"Ysir!" he yelped after a stunned moment which the dwarf had used to her advantage to disappear down the hall and into her room.

"What?" Ysir called, though it was muffled by the sheer amount of cake in her mouth.

"Don't eat with your mouth full," Bilbo snapped.

"Watcha want me to do? Spit it on the floor?" She mumbled as her jaw worked furiously. Bilbo nearly laugh. Ysir? Spit food out? He had yet to see the day.

"If you weren't such a glutton you wouldn't have this problem," Bilbo retorted smartly before it exploded in his face.

"Says he who eats seven meals a day."

"That's very normal for a hobbit," Bilbo huffed while Ysir simply snorted in response. Bilbo shuddered. Just because he had grown used to many of her horrible mannerisms didn't mean he wanted to see them anymore than he had to.

Ysir sat down her bed, still chewing. After a laborious few moments she swallowed and showed Bilbo the doughy inside of her mouth before swallowing again and speaking, the hobbit simply closing his eyes in revulsion.

"What _were _we talkin' about…" Ysir mused, running a careless hand through her mop of stringy, tangled hair. Bilbo exhaled an immense sigh before snatching a comb off the dresser and sitting down on the side of the bed. If he didn't do it, Ysir certainly wouldn't. The dwarf obediently hopped off the bed and settled between the hobbit's knees, the low hobbit bed working with her height to make it the perfect arrangement.

"No idea," Bilbo murmured in response as he untangled her random smattering of braids with deft fingers before carefully working the comb in the lengthy, wiry tresses. Like most things to do with dwarfs their hair was strong and coarse, so unlike the soft, curly locks of the hobbit folk.

"Ye interrupted me by makin' me take my boots off," Ysir grumble, trying to push blame onto her guardian.

"So…" Bilbo began, smiling gently at the back of his wards head, not knowing that she could see him in the mirror on the dresser. "If you had of taken your boots off in the first place, we wouldn't have this problem."

"If ye weren't such a stiff we wouldn't have a lotta these sorts of problems," Ysir smiled back at him in the mirror, not even flinching as Bilbo forcibly wacked the comb down on her scalp. He knew that there was little he could do to physically injure Ysir. Emotionally? He could probably tear her to shreds with a handful of sentences.

"Mind your manners," Bilbo reminded her gently but sternly. Ysir grunted in response. Her guardian passed the comb through the wavy tresses several times ensuring there were no hidden snags before handing wooden thing to her. The comb looked so small in her large hands. It had been his mother's and Belladonna had gifted it to the dwarf in her will having combed out the dwarfs long hair ever since she found residence in their home.

Bilbo watched in a detached fashion, one hand on the crown of her head, as Ysir knotted and wound several random braids into the underside of her hair. It was the one thing she had never allowed any one to do for her. Bilbo had offered hundreds of times but always she had looked distant and muttered something about it being some kind of dwarf thing. Neither of them understood what it was exactly but Ysir stood resolute.

Bilbo pressed gentle kiss to the top of her scalp before standing, taking the stray weapons off the bed and hanging them by their belts on her bed post. He could hear Ysir changing behind him and took his time to close the shutters, Krohk fluttering in just before they shut and alighting on the same bed post as the weapons, the wood scratched and marred from the thousands of times he had rested there.

There was a rustling of rugs before all sound stilled and Bilbo made his way to the door.

"Rest well," He murmured quietly.

"Make sure-"an immense yawn punctuated the drowsy sentence "you cook the fish for dinner."

"With lemon and thyme," Bilbo smiled before closing the door. He left it open a small amount. Ysir said it was so Krohk could go out if wished, though the bird had never left her while she was sleeping that Bilbo was aware of, but Bilbo knew it was her own insecurities that made her terrified to be shut in alone.

Bilbo was padding softly down the hall when recalled that they had never got to talking about that blasted wizard.

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**Please review my lovelies. Did you like the Bilbo and Ysir relationship? I know, technically, that Ysir's probably far older than Bilbo but it just seems right. I don't know why though so feel free to share your opinions!**


	5. Dwarfs

**Dwarfs**

Ysir woke sharply later that evening. She wasn't sure why she had suddenly just jolted awake but she was certain that something wasn't as it was supposed to be.

There was no sliver of light outlining the closed shutters so she had slept quite late, but candles were burning outside of her room in the hall casting an orange glow through the open slit of the door. The dwarf maiden glanced at Krohk who was watching her with one beady eye, his head tucked partially under his inky black wing. He was calm, so she forced herself to be the same.

Ysir slipped out of her bed with stealth that bellied her stature and race, throwing on an abandoned pair of breeches and leather vest of her worn tunic. Her long dagger was slipped inside her vest and held in place by the narrow belt that went about her waist.

Then, quiet as a mouse or, rather, a hobbit, she slipped out the partially open door and into the hall, rolling her bare feet from the outside to the inside to muffle the sound of her steps. Ysir paused at the door to Bilbo's room and gently pushed it, the round, wooden door sliding open noiselessly on well-oiled hinges. The room was perfectly dark and, more importantly, perfectly empty.

Ysir took several more steps before she could hear the faint sound of voices and then some very grumpy footsteps striding towards her. The dwarf readied herself, hand wrapped around the hilt of her blade. She slunk back into the shadows of the grandfather clock and waited, exhaling an immense sigh of relief only when a familiar head of curly brown hair came into view.

"Bilbo!" Ysir exhaled heavily and leapt forward, wrapping the hobbit in a bear hug.

"Ysir?" Bilbo squawked from somewhere under her elbow. "Firstly, I thought you were sleeping, and secondly… I really can't breathe."

"Sorry," Ysir mumbled with a grin on her face. She caught a whiff of a fine scent on the air and sniffed appreciatively. "The fish smells excellent Bilbo."

"I bet it tasted wonderful too," Bilbo sighed a little wistfully before his words turned distinctly bitter. "But I was forced to serve it all up to our guest."

"We have a guest?" Ysir asked curiously, recalling the murmur of conversation she had heard earlier. She was a little surprised since Bilbo was never exactly the most sociable of hobbits and Ysir herself had few enough friends in the Shire.

Bilbo glanced around at her, caution and a little nervousness suddenly in his eyes. She thought him about to speak but then the doorbell rang and the hobbit did little more than freeze and gape like a fish out of water. Ysir sighed.

"I'll get the door if ye see to our guest," she said before starting her way down the hall. Her guardian squeaked out something unintelligible and awkwardly dove in front of her only to be brushed aside by the dwarf's sturdier frame. Ysir heard the hobbit make a strange strangled sound from behind her and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, brow wrinkling in confusion as he waved his hands about frantically.

Ysir paid her guardian little mind after that; hobbits were strange creatures, anyone who had met even one of them could tell you that. She continued towards the door and tugged her vest straight, her dagger hidden away again as best she could manage.

The dwarf maiden stood behind the door and sighed to herself, drawing herself up as straight as she could and hoping that her hair didn't look like something had died in there. She wished she had thought to pull a pair of socks on, but then this was the Shire and no hobbit was going to look twice at her bare feet – except maybe in disgust that is, for dwarves, though hairy, cannot compare with the thick fur that grows atop a hobbit's foot.

Ysir worked a small smile onto her face as she tugged the door open, a smile which soon died on her lips when she came face to face with a short, portly dwarf dressed in varying shades of red. Ysir's mouth ran dry; she had not seen another dwarf since she had come to the Shire, at least not up close. She had seen a handful of them at a distance in Bree.

The dwarf looked every bit as surprised as she was but regained his composure far quicker than her, smiling quickly at her as she continued to gape uncomprehendingly.

"Balin, at your service," the elderly dwarf said by way of introduction with another sharp smile and a bobbing bow. His long, snowy beard wagged as he spoke.

"Ysir, at yours," the maiden replied in a monotone, still frozen. His expectant smile made her blush a little up the edges of her neck and Ysir performed a small, graceless bow, her injured hip creaking in protest of the motion.

"Would this happen to be the home of one Bilbo Baggins?" The strange dwarf, Balin, asked.

"It is indeed," Ysir replied, her wits gradually returning to her. "Though I was not aware that we were to have any company tonight."

"No company?" Balin chuckled good naturedly, brushing past her gently. So that was how Bilbo felt each time that she did that to him. No wonder he was always so cranky about it; it was demeaning without really intending to be. "Dear lass I fear you'll find you have far more than just me for company this fine night."

"More than you?" Ysir echoed, trailing after the older dwarf in confusion, the door kicked closed behind them. "Bilbo made no mention of guests…"

Ysir's voice faded away as she realised that this stranger had no intention of listening to her and was simply following his nose towards the dining room. Ysir continued to wander after him like a lost puppy before standing next to a bewildered Bilbo in the hall, her eyes widening in shock as she spotted another dwarf in the dining room.

This one was tall, far taller than her, exceedingly burly, half-bald, tattooed and menacing even when his lips pulled up in a slight smile at the sight Balin. Ysir unconsciously shifted in front of the now frail looking Bilbo.

"Oh! Ha ha! cried the elderly dwarf sauntering towards the big, scary-looking one. "Evening brother."

Ysir's mind tripped over itself and sprawled in swamp of her mind. These two were _brothers? _

"By my beard," the other began, stalking towards the smaller one. Ysir winced when she realised that he was made even more formidable by the fact one of his ears looked like it had been bitten in half. "You're shorter and wider than last we met."

"Shorter, not wider," Balin smirked. "And sharp enough for both of us."

Ysir bit back a laugh, exchanging a look with a Bilbo who looked on the verge of utterly freaking out. His face when the two brothers head-butted one another was priceless to say the least. To Ysir it felt… right.

"You're not going to head-butt me the next time we meet, are you?" Bilbo asked the dwarf maiden, concern in his voice.

"No, I think I'd crack your skull like a melon."

"Ah, thank you."

"Who's this?" Balin's brother prowled towards easier who straightened her spine and pulled her arms across her chest, her face vacant of expression as she stood defensively in front of Bilbo.

"Ysir," the dwarrow-maiden dropped a reluctant bow, speaking through gritted teeth. "At your service."

"Dwalin, at yours," the dwarf straightened, folding his own arms. Ysir was painfully aware that she only came halfway up his broad chest. She tilted her head a little to compensate.

"What are you doing here?" the stranger – Dwalin – asked. Ysir snorted.

"I might ask the same of you both. This is my home. What's your excuse?"

The corner of Dwalin's lip curled in what may have been half a smile or a snarl, depending on one's perspective.

"I like her," he said, before brushing past a bewildered Ysir who sighed resignedly as he and his brother disappeared into the pantry, Dwalin still having the remains of her dinner trapped in his black beard.

Ysir threw a glance at Bilbo who seemed torn between maintaining his temper and his dignity.

"I must get dressed," Ysir told him before striding off without waiting for an answer.

She sighed once again as she entered her room, closing the door behind her and leaning against it as she tried to collect herself. There were dwarves in her home, strange dwarves. What in Middle-Earth were they doing there?

Krohk squawked once from his bed post and Ysir reached over to stroke his silky feathers.

"What if they know my friend? What if it's time for me to move on?"

The raven made no response other than another sleepy caw and Ysir found herself looking around her room in silence, wondering if this is was the opportunity Bilbo had spoken of.

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**Author's note**

**Thanks for the reviews! I deeply appreciate the support!**


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